


If You Want to Bring Me Flowers

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, F/F, Fem Keith (Voltron), Fem Shiro (Voltron), Femslash, First Kiss, Gay Disaster Shiro (Voltron), Genderswap, Getting Together, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24322924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: One day, Keith comes to Shiro's flower shop with a strange request. When she keeps coming back, it's inevitable for her to form a friendship with her... and also a big, fat crush. But between looking up flower meanings, talking gardening for beginners, pollinator-friendly plants, and how very good dogs are, it's very possible Keith might be feeling it, too.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 214





	If You Want to Bring Me Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DropsOfAutumn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropsOfAutumn/gifts).



> Request fic written for [Kass](https://twitter.com/dropsofautumn), who requested femsheith + flowershop AU. 
> 
> I had SO much fun writing this. It's my first time writing an AU for femsheith AND my first time writing flower shop AU ever. It was so much fun to tackle this. 
> 
> The Fuck You Bouquet is based off [this post.](https://onetruepairingideas.tumblr.com/post/145937634716/flower-shop-au) The Death Bouquet is based off [this post.](https://www.under15.store/single-post/2018/10/22/How-To-Tell-Someone-To-Fuck-Off-With-Flowers)
> 
> If you want to know more about pollinator-friendly plants (for both bees and butterflies) in the United States, please check out [this website](http://xerces.org/) (dedicated and named for the first butterfly species to go extinct in North America). 
> 
> A huge thank you to both [Sharki](https://twitter.com/leftishark_) and [Sarah](https://twitter.com/ailurea) who read this over for me. You are both the best. ♥

Shiro meets Keith on a cool, rainy Thursday morning. 

Thursdays tend to be slow in the shop, that time between the go-getters who run their errands at the start of the week and the weekenders who arrive Friday after work. 

Shiro doesn’t mind Thursdays. It means she can reorganize the fresh-cut displays and restock the back shelves. Her favorite Thursday morning chore is carrying massive pots of soil from the backroom to stack on the far wall. She does that first, then double-checks the water levels for the nursery plants in the side greenhouse, then adjusts the lighting for the succulents in the window, then reorganizes the shelves of pots so that they’re lined up in descending order of size and whether plastic, clay, or ceramic. 

It’s a productive morning. Once she’s finished, she looks at the far wall and decides to bring out more potting soil bags, if only for the mini workout. 

By the time she finishes all of this, she still hasn’t had a single customer. This is typical of Thursdays, really. 

She leans against the front counter, hand on her chin, slowly rolling one ankle and then the other. She debates doing a set of wall push-ups, which she does sometimes when it’s horrendously slow. She’s never quite managed a full-on floor push-up set, because that feels just a little too weird for a potential customer to walk in on, but the temptation is strong today. It’s muggy and warm despite the rain and Shiro feels a bit sluggish. 

The speaker system in the shop plays a random overplayed top 40 mix she found online, tinny and nostalgic in her ears. She listens to it, doing a set of squats and some haphazard hamstring stretches, humming absently to the music filtering in through the store. 

Sweeping instead of wall push-ups wins, though, when she spots a collection of dirt hiding beneath one of the shelving units. With a sigh, she picks up her broom and starts her weekly sweep around the store, brushing away dirt, mud, and random detritus from customers’ shoes. The music plays and the rain taps against the window. 

Soon enough the swish of the broom against the concrete floor leaves Shiro swaying her hips, humming to herself again. The song playing through the speakers is a familiar one, and a well-loved one, and it’s easy for her to fall into the musicality of it. 

It’s inevitable that Shiro starts singing. She dances around the broom, singing along to the song as she makes little molehills of dirt she’ll come back for with the dustpan. Her singing only grows in volume as the song progresses. 

She slides her feet across the concrete floor as she gets into it, jutting her hips back and forth. She sashays past the succulents and cacti, weaves between the maidenhair ferns and spider plants, ducks down the aisles with the pots. It’s less sweeping and more dancing now, her broom her invisible partner. 

She’s hardly the best dancer in the world, she thinks, but she’s used to getting stuck in her own head. She’s unsure what to do with her arms as she holds the broom and she’s maybe too off-beat, but there’s still something fun about just being silly. 

It's only as she’s shimmying her way towards the potting soil that she realizes she’s not alone in the store— a girl stands by the counter, watching her. As soon as Shiro spots her, her mortification is swift and brutal. 

The girl is looking right at her, expression one of perplexed amusement. There’s no hope that maybe, just maybe, the customer has only just shown up and didn’t hear Shiro’s off-key belting of a song from twenty years ago. 

Shiro’s sure she must look a mess, a big girl like her trying to mimic a male singer’s falsetto. She nearly drops her broom as she stands there, lurched to a sudden stop with the bangs of her bob sticking to her sweaty forehead, her overalls too big, baggy, and covered in dirt, and her sleeves rolled up to expose her forearms and the sleek metal of her prosthesis. 

“Um,” Shiro squeaks out and it’s the least professional or suave she’s ever been. 

Because, well, the girl’s also gorgeous. Her hair’s a grown-out shag, Shiro thinks, scruffy and disarrayed, her jeans ripped and her old tank top nearly thread-bare and see-through. 

“Hey,” the girl says, voice husky and rich and very, very devastating to Shiro’s incredibly gay heart. 

The girl rocks on her heels, hands in her pockets as she leans back against the register’s counter. 

“Hi— yeah, hi! Sorry, didn’t hear you come in!” Shiro says, nearly chucking the broom across the shop in her effort to erase all evidence of her embarrassing, discordant singing. She’s not quite so dramatic, although she does basically toss it back into its corner at her booth. 

The girl watches the broom’s arc and then shrugs. “I’m quiet.” 

And Shiro’s singing was _loud._ She’s fairly certain that she’s never going to stop blushing. 

The girl’s smile is so pretty, her eyes half-lidded as she regards Shiro. She looks casually and devastatingly hot like it’s _nothing_ , which is extremely unfair. Shiro can barely stand it. She can see the girl’s black bralette through that threadbare white tank top. Shiro is overwhelmed. 

“W- what can I help you with?” Shiro finally manages to ask, remembering her job and livelihood rely pretty heavily on selling stuff to customers, not dying of embarrassment over a hot girl catching her singing. 

“Right,” the girl says. “So. I need to buy a bouquet.” 

“Oh, they are some over—” 

“And I need it to say ‘fuck you’ in the most passive-aggressive way possible,” the girl interrupts. She shuffles, suddenly looking less casually cool and more awkward, although no less attractive in Shiro’s eyes. “Flowers have that language or whatever, right?” 

“Huh?”

“Like, roses mean love and stuff. Are there flowers that just mean ‘fuck you’?” the girl asks, crossing and uncrossing her arms again. “Is that a weird question?” 

Shiro’s used to the questions from customers, some of them asking if Shiro knows the meaning behind the bouquets and what each individual flower means. She’s so used to the question that she’s learned not to roll her eyes and groan about it anymore. 

“Oh,” Shiro says, staring over at the bundle of fresh-cut flowers in their tubs of water and the more expensive, larger bundles in their window coolers. She feels a little bad about crushing the girl’s hopes. “Most florists— we don’t actually know that Victorian stuff. We just make bouquets based on what will work and look best. Most of us don’t know the old meanings off the top of our heads.” 

“Oh,” the girl says. Then nothing else. She stands there, blinking, and shifts from foot to foot. “Sorry to bother you, then.”

“Ah, wait—” Shiro says when the girl turns to leave. Shiro nearly loses her breath when their eyes meet, that dark swirl in the girl’s eyes such an impossible color, better than all the flowers Shiro’s ever seen. She swallows. “I can look it up? See what I have that works?” 

Shiro pulls her phone out from the pocket of her overalls, already typing out the query before the girl can agree. She stands there watching Shiro, her combat boots squeaking against the floor as she fidgets. And then she seems to decide to stick around, leaning her hip against the counter, never taking her eyes off Shiro. 

“Okay,” Shiro says, and pushes a pad of paper and a pen towards the girl so she can jot the meanings down as she searches. It’s a slow process but Shiro finally manages to get a solid list: geraniums, foxgloves, meadowsweets, yellow carnations, and orange lilies. 

Some of these Shiro thinks she’ll have in stock. She frowns thoughtfully to herself and tucks her phone back into her pocket. 

“I can make a bouquet out of that,” she promises. “Really striking and full of so much loathing.” 

The girl’s mouth twitches and, god, she’s so pretty when she smiles. It lights up her face, which is kind of hilarious considering they’re talking about a Fuck You Bouquet. 

“So, what do they all mean?” the girl asks. 

“Let’s see,” Shiro says, glancing over the list. The girl’s handwriting is really nice, Shiro thinks, even if it also kind of looks like chicken-scratch. “Geraniums are stupidity, apparently.”

“Perfect.” 

Shiro hums as she reads through the list. “The others, uhh… Okay, yellow carnations are disappointment and orange lilies are hatred.” 

“ _Perfect._ ” 

Shiro fights a smile. “I’m really curious who the hell is getting these flowers.”

The girl looks up from the list to regard her again. 

Shiro holds up her hands. “Not that you have to tell me. Let me grab some flowers from the back, a few fillers, and I can get that ready to go for you.” 

She makes a hasty retreat to the backroom before the customer can say anything. Shiro spends a few minutes taking deep, steadying breaths. She’s not too embarrassed to admit that she checks her reflection in one of the water buckets, straightening out her hair as best she can. She’s usually not one for quick-grooming, but she can’t deny the effect that girl has on her. 

She always was weak to a pretty girl. 

She can’t find any orange lilies, but she has some geraniums in planters she can clip for the cause, along with plenty of yellow carnations. The longer she works, she can’t help but think that maybe just yellow carnations could work, or she’ll have to add more than one filler, because a bouquet made up only of carnations and geraniums battles strongly against her self-worth as a florist. Too plain, too unbalanced, too _strange_. 

She returns with her wares to find the girl lingering near the succulents, bent over and regarding them closely, so close her nose is nearly pressed straight into a donkeytail. Shiro tries not to stare at her ass because that is beyond unprofessional, no matter how perfectly those tight jeans hug her. Her eyes linger all the same. 

Shiro clears her throat and watches the girl straighten up again, pushing the hair from her face as she turns back to Shiro. The hair-tousling lifts her tank top a bit to expose a sliver of her flat belly and Shiro is only a woman. She tears her eyes away from her stomach and tries very hard not to stare at the girl’s chest as she approaches.

“Interested in, uh, succulents?” Shiro asks as she sets out the ugly bouquet of geraniums, carnations, and Shiro’s vain attempt at filler with baby’s breath and Italian ruscus. She couldn’t help it. Her degree in horticulture refused to let her leave the backroom with a two-flower bouquet. 

“Kinda, but not really,” the girl says. She shoves her hands into her pockets. “I’m not much of a green thumb. I even kill succulents.” 

“They’re actually really easy to kill,” Shiro assures her. 

The girl blinks. “They are? I thought they were easy to keep alive.”

“Finicky little bastards, I promise.” Shiro laughs and the girl’s mouth twitches like she wants to smile. She folds her arms on the counter, leaning forward. Shiro does not look down her shirt. “Anyway,” Shiro says, averting her eyes and blushing. “If you want to try growing things, try mint. Really hard to kill. Also, marigolds.”

The girl does smile this time, tilting her head. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” 

Shiro rings up the bouquet, despairing at its ugliness— she can see it on the girl’s face, although neither of them acknowledges it. It’s ugly, but not in an interesting way. Just ugly. But maybe that’s the point, in the end. It doesn’t have to be nice work if the purpose is to say ‘fuck you’. Still, Shiro’s pride as a florist and shop owner has a hard time letting this girl walk out the door with them. 

“Thanks again,” the girl says as she steps away. She tucks the bouquet into her arms. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” 

“I hope so,” Shiro says before she can stop herself. She nearly claps a hand over her mouth. Fumbling, she adds, “We have marigold starters. And mint seeds. If, uh, you ever want to give gardening a try.”

“Gotta support local businesses,” the girl says and turns, heading towards the door. She pauses just before she steps through, turning back towards Shiro. “I’m Keith, by the way.” 

“Oh! Shiro.” She even points at herself like she’s in kindergarten. She doesn’t know what it is about this girl that makes her feel so unearthed. 

“I know,” the girl— Keith! Beautiful, devastatingly hot Keith!— says. She nods towards her. “Your name tag.” 

“Oh,” Shiro says, looking down at the flower-shaped name tag pinned to her overalls. When she looks up again, Keith is gone. 

-

Next Thursday morning, Shiro’s restacking the piles of organic overwatering-protection potting soils, lifting and hoisting each forty-pound bag and listening to another mix of music. This one’s called It’s Work Time, It’s Feel Time, whatever that means, but Shiro enjoys the jazzy ensemble. She’s humming-singing again, loud and off-key, perfectly content to stack the bags as her morning chore. 

She pauses in her work as the song slips away from the lyrics she doesn’t have memorized and back into the familiar chorus. She scoots from humming in favor of singing, wiping her brow and rolling up the sleeves of her Henley to cool down. She unsnaps the first few buttons to the top then squats down to hoist up the last few bags. 

When she turns, Keith is standing there. Shiro doesn’t startle this time, but the song she was busting out stops mid-breath. 

“Keith!” she gasps in greeting. 

Keith smiles, like she’s surprised Shiro remembers her, her cheeks dusting a pleasant pink. She’s wearing the same jeans as last week, Shiro thinks, ripped over her knees, thighs, and parts of her hairy shins. She’s wearing a red bralette under her tank top today. 

“Hey,” Keith says. 

Shiro yanks her eyes away from her chest. She has her shaggy hair thrown into a ponytail today, little wisps of her hair framing her face and slipping out to coil around the back of her neck. 

Shiro thinks that Keith will leave it at that simple greeting, but then, eyes glittering, she adds, “Nice song.” 

“Oh god,” Shiro groans, wondering how feasible it is to hide her face behind the bag of soil. “I swear I don’t sing usually… you just have weird timing.” 

She feels mortified. Which is why, maybe, Keith simply shrugs and moves past the conversation. “Anyway,” Keith says while Shiro blushes. “I thought I’d take you up on that offer for marigolds.” 

“Oh! That’s great!” Shiro says, throwing the bags she’s holding onto the top of its stack and dusting her hands. Keith’s eyes trace where her sleeves strain against her biceps and Shiro laughs, embarrassed. “I’ve been really thinking about that bouquet.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I thought of a better idea,” Shiro says, picking up the last of the bags and tossing it effortlessly onto the top stack; it’s not the best lifting form but she’s not above showing off, especially when Keith’s eyes flicker to her biceps again. “If you’re ever in need of passive aggressively saying ‘fuck you’ again, that is.” 

Keith crosses her arms, fighting back an amused smile. “Yeah? Tell me about it.” 

“Okay,” Shiro says and holds out her hands in a dramatic pose. “I call it… the Death Bouquet.” 

Keith laughs and it’s such a bright, clear thing that it stabs Shiro deep into her gut. “Metal as fuck.” 

Shiro grins. “Okay. Roses first.” 

“Aren’t those for love?” 

“Roses for their thorns,” Shiro clarifies, heading away from the potting soil and towards her counter. Keith follows her. “Ornamental thorn roses. Then thistles, so many damn thistles.” She grins as Keith nods her head, intrigued. “Then dusty miller flowers. Super boring little bastards, clog up bouquets like crazy. Weak and floppy.” 

“Sounds about right,” Keith says, starting to grin now, drawn in by Shiro’s enthusiasm. Shiro opens one of the drawers behind her counter, fishing around for her notepad. 

“Then, baby’s breath. I gave you that last time, too,” Shiro says, still searching. “You can’t tell those things are dead until you touch them, and then they just explode petals and leaves everywhere. They’re like nature’s glitter bombs.” 

“Perfect.” The grin’s grown, a little off-center but undoubtedly amused. 

“But I haven’t even told you the arrangement,” Shiro says, holding up her hand theatrically. She’s not above storytelling, after all. She plays Monsters and Mana for a reason. “Forget everything about normal bouquet arrangement. Fillers first. That dusty miller and baby’s breath as far as the eye can see. Shove a few roses in there, but it’s going to be seventy percent filler. Then you hide the thistles in the bouquet, under the roses. Keep them at hand level.” 

“Oh,” Keith says, snorting very softly. “Brutal.” 

Shiro’s really getting into it now. “Spray them with water so that they’re damp and unhappy. Thistles get hard as they die. Then line the roses around the outside, thorns aplenty.” 

Keith laughs harder, shaking her head. Shiro’s not sure if she’s overdoing it, if Keith maybe thinks she’s insane. But, Shiro’s had all week to think about this. She can’t help it— it proved an interesting challenge to come up with the meanest bouquet possible while still having true artistry in it. 

No carnations and geranium bullshit here. 

“Then wrap it in tissue paper. If the bouquet’s wet, that tissue paper won’t do anything. And then when you deliver it, bam— they’ll reach out and just grab a ton of thorns and thistles all at once. A thousand little needle stabs in the palm.” 

She finds her notepad, flips to the page, and slams it down for Keith to look. She’s drawn a rough sketch of what the bouquet would look like, complete with a cartoonish four-fingered hand bleeding from its palm. It’s not actually very _good_ — Shiro is no artist— but she’s still proud of it.

Especially since it makes Keith laugh. Even if she’s laughing at the pain of an imaginary foe, she’s breathtaking. Shiro might be just the littlest bit in love. 

“Fuck,” Keith says, leaning against the counter, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.” 

Shiro leans in closer, grinning back at her. “But I haven’t even told you about when it dies.” 

“What?” Keith looks disbelieving and delighted. She leans in closer, too, both of them swaying in one another’s space, just the counter between them. 

“It’s too tightly packed and damp in the center of the bouquet… so it’s going to mold in secret. They’ll smell it, but not know what’s wrong because the roses on the outside will get plenty of water and air, so they’ll look fine. And baby’s breath never looks like it’s dead.”

She’s using her florist powers for evil all because of a pretty girl, but so be it. 

“Yeah?” Keith asks, breathless, prompting her for more. She’s into it. Shiro’s walking on air. 

“So then, once they realize it’s the flowers and go to move the bouquet— poof, a thousand leaves and petals everywhere.” 

“Glitter bomb,” Keith says, sounding impressed. She also looks like she wants to cry from laughing. 

Shiro’s gotten a little too into it, maybe. But whatever. She’s damn proud of this bouquet idea. 

“And _that_ ,” Shiro says, “is how you say ‘fuck you’ in flowers. None of this Victorian shit.”

Keith cackles. “I’ll take five.” 

Shiro laughs, too, booming and loud. “You’re here for marigolds, you said.” 

“I mean, that was quite the sales pitch,” Keith says, her smile bleeding into a smirk. “And I have a lot of people I could give those to.” 

“Bad ex-boyfriends?” 

“No boyfriend,” Keith says with a shrug. “Not my thing.” 

Shiro’s heart twists up happily in her chest and she coughs to try to cover the stupid expression she must make, delighted and hopeful. “Ha. Yeah. I get you.” 

She leans forward further on the counter. Keith’s eyes drop for a moment and then dart back up to meet Shiro’s eyes. 

“I work with shitty people,” Keith says. “It’s annoying. Last week, an asshole got promoted above me… so, bouquet. Since you asked before. Didn’t get a chance to tell you.”

“Did they like it?” 

“He was very complimentary,” Keith says with a roll of her eyes. “Geraniums are right. He’s too stupid to realize I was insulting him… But who knows that Victorian shit, right?” 

“Well, if you give _these_ bouquets to everyone you work with and you end up fired, you can always come work here,” Shiro says. “Promise it’s a better working environment.” 

Keith laughs, like she’s startled, like she didn’t expect to hear the words. Maybe she didn’t. “I don’t know the first thing about flowers,” Keith says, laughing. “But thanks.”

“Well,” Shiro says. “What _do_ you know about?”

Keith considers, quiet for a moment, humming thoughtfully. “Rugby,” she says, “and dog training.” 

Shiro perks up. “Do you have a dog?” 

“Sure do!” Keith says, shoving a hand into her pocket and yanking out her phone. “Want to see a picture?” 

“Obviously,” Shiro says and coos appropriately when Keith flips through her gallery and twists it around to show Shiro. Keith’s dog— Kosmo— is a perfect angel, dark fur nearly blue in the light with distinct markings and a big, perfectly smooshable happy face. Shiro wants to shove her face into his fur and just cuddle forever. “Oh,” Shiro sighs. “You have to bring him next time.” 

“Sure,” Keith says, her smile small. “He loves meeting new people.” 

Shiro feels a rush of warmth inside as she beams at Keith, glowy and sterllar. “So, dogs and rugby, huh?” 

“I’m on a team,” Keith agrees. 

Shiro gives her a once-over. Keith’s shorter than her, slim, but there’s clearly muscle packed in there. Her biceps are very lickable in that tank top and the threadbare fabric makes the contour of her abs clear. 

“You gotta be really strong to be on a team,” Shiro says.

“I am,” Keith says. “I could lift you and throw you across this shop if I wanted.”

Shiro’s breath goes still in her lungs. For a moment, she has no idea if Keith is teasing or challenging, but either way, Shiro can’t breathe. “Oh,” Shiro says, sounding strangled. “Yeah? Cool.” 

Keith looks away, blushing. Teasing, then. “Yeah. It’s cool.” 

“So,” Shiro says after that stilted silence where, honestly, Shiro waits to see if Keith will throw her over her shoulder, “Marigolds?” 

Only then does the door to the shop open, a rogue customer entering and interrupting the moment. Keith seems shocked to see another human in the shop. Then again, it’s the first time in her two Thursday visits when it hasn’t been just the two of them. 

“Go ahead into the nursery,” Shiro suggests. “We have starters in there. There’s marigolds but other plants, too. Look to see what you think looks nice and I’ll come help you in a moment.” 

Keith nods and wanders away as Shiro focuses on helping the customer. He’s a regular, an older man who likes to grow blueberry bushes in his backyard and usually brings extras to Shiro when he can’t eat them all. He’s been coming to this shop for decades, back when it was Shiro’s dad’s shop, before he retired to travel the world with her mom, and before Shiro inherited the family business. 

By the time Shiro helps Mister Hampton purchase fertilizer and carry a larger planter pot to his truck, Keith’s set aside a few plants she’s interested in from the greenhouse. Shiro clamps down her disappointment that she didn’t get to walk Keith through it all, but does help her narrow it down to beginner-friendly choices, packing them into a cardboard flat for her. 

“Thanks,” Keith says once she’s heading towards the exit with her purchases. She gives Shiro a once-over, smiling, and tilts her head. “See you around, songbird. Can’t wait to hear your next solo.” 

She leaves Shiro staring after her even after she’s left, her heart beating a quick tempo in her chest.

-

Keith starts coming by twice weekly after that, usually on Thursdays and another random day in the week. She purchases gardening supplies in increments— first a trowel, then fertilizer, then some ant traps for her kitchen, then some mint seeds. 

“Gotta take multiple trips,” she says with a shrug. “No car and I can’t carry things easily on my bike.” 

They talk about gardening techniques and some of Shiro’s great and not-so-great customers. They _definitely_ talk about Keith’s motorcycle. Shiro tells Keith about inheriting her dad’s flower shop. Keith tells Shiro about her work, too, a boring office job that’s not her life’s passion. 

“What _is_ your life’s passion?” Shiro asks the first time Keith mentions her less-than-stellar work situation.

Keith shrugs. “Community stuff, I guess,” she mumbles, looking embarrassed— like Shiro’s going to tease her for her answer. “Organizing.” 

“That’s a great goal,” Shiro says and it makes Keith blush, smiling to herself as she helps Shiro stack up the forty-pound soil bags. She tosses them up just as easily as Shiro does, which just makes Shiro fall a little bit more in love.

Because there’s no denying she has a crush on Keith. 

She can’t disguise the burst of happiness in her chest whenever she looks up and it’s Keith standing in the doorway. Somehow, Keith has eerie timing— always walking into the shop just as Shiro’s distracted and serenading herself.

“Gosh, is my singing summoning you?” Shiro asks at one point.

It makes Keith laugh. “Like a siren? Maybe, songbird.” 

Keith’s visits are the highlights of Shiro’s day and often what gets her through her work week. She loves just talking with Keith about nothing. She loves seeing her when she turns around, ripped jeans and faded shirts, loose-fitting sweaters slipping off one shoulder, her hair always in disarray. It’s maybe not the most romantic notion, but Shiro can’t stop thinking about just pushing Keith up against the damn potting soil and kissing her. 

A stupid fantasy, of course. She thinks, tentatively, that they’re friendly with one another, but she’s not sure if talking while Shiro’s at her job quite counts as a friendship. But at the same time, for all the times Keith’s in the shop, she never once buys bouquets for dates or anything like that, and Shiro’s heart is traitorous enough to find hope in that.

“No girlfriend?” Shiro finally tentatively asks a couple weeks in. She holds her breath as she shuffles and re-organizes the fresh-cut flowers in their tubs. 

Keith flushes red, fiddling with a piece of hair and tucking it behind her ear. “No,” she says. She peeks up at Shiro through her lashes. “Not right now, at least.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro hears herself say. “Me neither.”

Keith smiles at her. Shiro smiles back, feeling floaty and ridiculous. She’s sure they stay like that for a bit too long, just smiling at one another, standing next to the big display of bouquets, surrounded by pretty flowers. Nothing, though, is quite as pretty as Keith. 

Shiro clears her throat, blushing as she looks away. She stares at her many bouquets. She’s spent far too much time thinking about what sorts of flowers Keith might like, but all those thoughts fly from her now. 

“Here,” Shiro says, pausing in her organizing and pulling out a random bouquet. She turns, handing it to Keith before she can second-guess it. “For you, then.” 

“I don’t—” 

“Free of charge,” Shiro says. “I’m going to have to toss a few of these tomorrow. So, uh, yeah. Go ahead.” She holds out the bouquet, waiting for Keith to take it. When she does, Shiro smiles. “It’s okay to get flowers for yourself or for no reason. It brightens up a room.” 

Keith smiles, ducking her head as she inhales the floral scent wafting off the bunch. “Thanks, Shiro,” she says. “Flowers are nice. I don’t usually— ha. I spent a lot of time thinking I’m not much of a flower girl.” 

“I promise not to tell anyone and ruin your street cred,” Shiro says with a wink. It startles a laugh from Keith. “But yeah,” Shiro says, agreeing. “I get what you mean. I love flowers but not too many people have ever pegged me as a ‘flower girl’. Come to think of it, I don’t think a date’s ever gotten me flowers.” 

“That’s a shame,” Keith says with a frown, gripping the flowers tight. 

-

Shiro’s belting out a power ballad on a Tuesday morning when she turns and sees Keith there. She drops her broom in surprise.

Keith catches it with her foot, kicking it back up into her hand. 

Really, Shiro should just expect Keith in the mornings and stop embarrassing herself. But then she’d miss moments like this one, the casual way Keith just exists. 

Keith hands the broom back to Shiro. “I brought my dog.”

“Kosmo?” Shiro asks, perking up. “Where?” 

She cranes her head and sees the most perfect dog sitting outside her shop. Shiro’s already hurrying towards the door before she remembers herself and turns back towards Keith.

“Yeah, he loves pets,” Keith assures her, answering the silent question with a wave of her hand. “Go.” 

Kosmo seems just as thrilled to see Shiro as Shiro is to see him. He greedily accepts all her pets as she strokes him from the back of the head down to rump, then scratches her fingers through his fur. He cuddles up to her, tail wagging so hard that it thumps against the ground. 

“You’re such a good boy, aren’t you?” Shiro coos, cuddling close to him. Kosmo wuffs in happy agreement. He’s just as perfect as Shiro knew he’d be. 

When Shiro looks up again, Keith’s leaning against the door, looking helplessly endeared. It’s maybe the softest Shiro’s ever seen Keith smile and it makes warmth flush through her, embarrassed but delighted to see Keith’s expression. 

“I’ll bring him by more, if you want,” Keith says. 

Shiro grins up at her, fingers buried deep in Kosmo’s thick fur. “Please do.” 

-

“So, my marigolds haven’t actually died yet,” Keith says on a rainy Thursday a few weeks later. “I… uh, well, I want to plant more, maybe? I’m actually thinking about getting some bees.”

“Bees?” Shiro looks up at her after trimming a couple dead leaves from the older tomato plants. 

“Yeah,” Keith says. “Not a hive. Just some mason bees.” 

Shiro grins, setting down her clippers. “Keith, that’s great.” 

Keith shrugs. “My mom helped me realize a few months back that I don’t actually have too many hobbies, so we thought it’d be good if I explored options. That way, I wouldn’t be so miserable at that fucking job.” Keith bites her lip, following Shiro around the nursery, watching Shiro water some of the vegetable starters. “I didn’t expect gardening to be one of them, but… well. You inspired me.” 

Shiro turns and smiles at her. “Keith, I bet your garden is great.”

Keith laughs. “It’s just marigolds right now, Shiro.” 

“But you’re growing it!” Shiro says, happy. “And now you want to expand for pollinators?” 

“Yeah,” Keith says. “That’s it exactly. I don’t know what things would be best.”

“Thankfully, you’ve got an expert here,” Shiro says with a wink, setting down her watering can. “You’ll want to stick with native plants for bees _and_ butterflies.” 

“So what plants, then?” Keith says. “I admit I don’t know what’s native.” 

“A lot of it is wildflowers or shrubs that I don’t really have here,” Shiro says. “But I can also put in some orders for you, if you want.” 

Keith’s mouth twitches. “Gotta support local, right?” She gestures. “So?” 

“So, lupine for sure,” Shiro says. “And milkweed, milkweed, milkweed. Never enough milkweed and that’s the only place Monarchs will lay their eggs.” 

Shiro starts listing off a few other plants, pointing to where she already has some grown in the nursery. Keith unfolds a cardboard flat and starts filling it with the plants Shiro indicates. It leads to a hefty collection, but Keith waves her hand when Shiro tries to give her a discount. 

By the end of it, Keith has a few flats full of lavender, packages of seeds, and a list of other shrubs and trees to look for while Shiro places special orders for the rest. 

“They’re not all the sorts of plants you’d find in traditional gardens,” Shiro says as she writes it all out for Keith. “But it’ll make your Mason bees happy.” 

Keith laughs. “Gotta make the bees happy.”

“Absolutely,” Shiro says. She personally thinks Mason bees are adorable— shiny, sleek, blue, and cute. It’s a good choice, Shiro thinks. Like Keith’s adorable. She looks up and meets Keith’s eyes— not quite mason bee blue, but still pretty. “I can’t wait to see how happy your bees are.”

“You’ll have to come visit them sometime,” Keith says. “… I’d love to see yours, too. Your garden, I mean. I bet it looks nice.”

“Sadly neglected over the years,” Shiro admits, rubbing the back of her head, fiddling with where her hair falls by her ears. “But, yeah, you’re welcome to come see it. I’ve put a lot of work into it.” 

“What made you like gardening so much, anyway?” Keith asks. 

“It was something I did with my dad at first,” Shiro says, shrugging. “But, well… it always helped me feel calm. You’re creating something, helping something grow. It’s just a nice feeling, I guess. Like… ‘it’s not just me; I’m helping something else live, too.’ That kind of thing. Also…” Shiro shrugs again, feeling self-conscious. “I mean. No deep reason. I just think flowers are pretty.”

“They are,” Keith agrees quietly, watching Shiro play with her hair, tucking it behind her ear. 

-

The next time Keith visits the shop, she has a bundle of marigolds in her hands, tied up with string, the stems plopped in a little plastic cup to keep them from drying out. She thrusts the whole thing towards Shiro without preamble, stopping her mid-lyric. 

“Here,” Keith says, blushing up to her ears and not looking Shiro in the eye. “From my garden. For you.”

“Keith!” Shiro says, taking the cup and staring at the marigolds— large and heirloom, vibrant and aggressively yellow. “These are beautiful!” 

“Thanks,” Keith mumbles, looking embarrassed but pleased. “They’re the first big blooms that grew after I planted them.” 

“You didn’t have to bring them for me!” Shiro says. 

“I wanted to,” Keith says, looking at Shiro now— insistent and intense. Her eyes burn. “You deserve all the pretty things, Shiro.” 

Shiro laughs, feeling squirmy in the best way. She smiles at the marigolds, setting them down carefully at her station near the register. “They’re perfect,” she says, and smiles at Keith. She’s always smiling at Keith. She never wants to stop. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

“I, uh—” Keith pauses. She fiddles with her hands, hooking and unhooking her fingers through her belt loops. She’s quiet for a moment, wrestling with words, before she manages: “I always— er. I think about you.” 

Shiro’s not quite sure how to take the statement, her eyes widening. Keith fumbles then, and Shiro thinks back to the first day she met Keith, back when she thought she was effortlessly suave and steel-eyed. Nothing like the sweet, almost shy girl in front of her now, toying with her ponytail. Keith hooks her hands behind her neck, blushing. 

“Because, uh. We’re friends,” Keith tacks on, but the words sound lame even to Shiro, who usually isn’t great at picking up these hints at the best of times. She can’t imagine she’s reading into this too much. 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, her voice quiet. She runs her fingers over one of the marigold’s petals. “I think about you a lot, too, Keith.” 

She hears Keith stop breathing, the softest intake of breath. When their eyes meet, Shiro smiles— shy, tentative. 

“I planted some salal,” Keith says. “Already getting bumble bees.” 

“That’s great, Keith.” 

Keith nods, shuffling. She bites her lip. She looks the very picture of unsure. Shiro takes a deep breath and reaches out, taking one of Keith’s fumbling hands. It’s such a bold touch, unexpected but definitive, that for a moment they both kind of startle. 

“No one’s ever brought me flowers before,” Shiro says. “Thank you, Keith.” 

“Of course,” Keith says, voice almost wooden. She looks at their hands, the way Shiro’s larger one engulfs hers. 

“Are you busy today?” Shiro asks. Then quickly adds, “If you’re not, after we’re both done with work— I don’t live too far from here, if you want to see my backyard. Things are starting to bloom.” 

“Oh!” Keith says, blinking. Then she nods. “Y- yeah. Yeah. I’m free.” 

“Stop by,” Shiro insists, then lets go of Keith’s hand so she can pull out her pad of paper, scribbling down her address and her phone number. She slides it over to Keith, holding her breath. “Just text when you’re coming by. I’ll be waiting.” 

Keith blinks, staring down at the paper, then slowly pockets it. She’s red-faced, but smiling. “Y- yeah. Okay.”

“Hope you like blueberry bars,” Shiro says. “Because Mister Hampton gave me way too many blueberries again.” 

Keith laughs, a soft, delighted sound. 

-

Shiro waits, hovering near the front door when she gets Keith’s text. She has to refrain from ripping the door open when Keith knocks, waiting a respectable twenty seconds before turning the knob and welcoming her in. 

She gives the very briefest tour of her house but makes a quick beeline for her backyard, ushering Keith through towards the backdoor.

She can’t help her smug smile when Keith gasps, setting foot onto the back porch. Shiro’s damn proud of her garden— years and years of effort and work to get it to be the pollinator’s paradise she’s wanted it to be. She’s been sprucing it up every day after work ever since her conversation with Keith about it. She’s not about to show off a neglected garden, after all. 

She has raised beds for her vegetables, flush with beans, lettuce, rhubarb, zucchini, the beginnings of pumpkins and squash. She’s also trying to grow some peppers this year and it hasn’t been a resounding success, but there’s always next year.

The rest of the garden is full of trees, native shrubs and bushes usually alight with bees and butterflies when it’s not so late in the day. There are hummingbird feeders hanging from metal holders, swinging in the breeze, the sound of the birds buzzing around louder than a swarm of bees. 

“Holy shit, Shiro,” Keith says, marveling, following the little garden path as she takes in the bright, sunshine-bound sunflowers, the lush blanket of lavender, the creeping vines along the fence posts. It’s shady in places thanks to the larger trees, here long before Shiro ever was, a cherry tree and a Japanese maple. 

“Like it?” 

“Fuck off,” Keith says, laughing as she turns around. The sun’s sinking behind the trees in the distance, casting the entire garden in a warm evening glow. 

Keith looks beautiful standing in the garden, hands on her hips, her hair a dark spill of ink at the back of her neck, her arms bared and muscular in her ripped tank. 

“If you’d like some flowers,” Shiro says. “Just let me know. I’ll make you a bouquet.” 

Keith smiles a little, her cheeks a cute pink. “I saw my marigolds in the windowsill.” 

“Ha,” Shiro says, blushing, too. “I really like them. And they’re from you.” 

Keith laughs. “Shiro. Please.” 

They wander the garden, pausing beneath Shiro’s apple tree. Keith looks up, thoughtful. Shiro’s struck by the casual beauty of her, as always, the quiet way she stands there. How easy it’d be to push her against the tree trunk and kiss her. 

Maybe it shows on her face. Keith looks at her, the sky darkening above them. 

“Which are your favorites?” Keith asks. 

“Peonies,” Shiro says. “I love those. They’re really pretty.” 

Keith nods, although her dark eyes don’t leave Shiro’s. “Yeah. Gorgeous.” 

Keith doesn’t look around the garden. She leans back against the apple tree’s trunk, humming. With the sun sinking behind her neighbor’s rooftops, the air is a bit cooler. Shiro watches Keith shiver.

“Cold?” 

“A little.”

Shiro steps in closer, lifting her hands to Keith’s arms. She hesitates just before touching, unsure if it’d be welcome. But Keith says nothing, just looking at her. Shiro rubs her arms slowly, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of her touch. 

When Shiro stills, she doesn’t drop her hands away. Keith breathes out, her hands reaching, gently, to touch Shiro’s waist. 

They stand like that, still as the night’s air. Keith’s hands flex and then, so gently, her grip tightens and she coaxes Shiro just a little bit closer. When Shiro steps forward into Keith’s space, bracketing her against the tree, she hears the rattle of Keith’s deep breath. Then the silence when she just holds it. 

Shiro leans in a little closer. Her heart pounds but Keith doesn’t look away. Her eyes flicker, glancing between Shiro’s eyes and her mouth. 

Shiro licks her lips and murmurs, “… May I?”

Keith huffs then, whether at Shiro’s phrasing or the fact she’d ask at all. But she’s already tipping her chin up as she whispers, “Please.”

Keith doesn’t wait for Shiro to lean down the rest of the way, rising up to kiss her. Shiro slants their mouths together with a soft breath. It feels good, especially when Shiro drops her hands from Keith’s arms to cup her hips. Keith throws her arms around Shiro’s neck, pulling her in closer.

And it feels good, appropriate even, to kiss in Shiro’s backyard, surrounded by flowers. Kissing Keith is a revelation, her lips soft, her tongue teasing after just a few short breaths. Shiro opens herself up to Keith. 

Keith is demanding and forceful in her kiss, holding Shiro tight and commanding attention. She makes a soft sound, deepening the kiss and refusing to let Shiro breathe. And Shiro’s more than willing and more than happy to go along for the ride. 

Keith’s fingers sink into Shiro’s hair, holding tight, tilting Shiro’s head to kiss her deeper. Shiro groans as Keith sucks her tongue into her mouth. She’s more than happy to respond. It feels so much like breathing. 

When they finally part for breath, Keith’s panting, trembling in Shiro’s arms. “Fuck,” Keith says. “Been wanting to do that for a long time.”

It makes Shiro laugh. “Really?” 

Keith drops one hand to curl around the collar of Shiro’s button-up. Her fingertips ghost over her collarbone where Shiro’s left her shirt open. 

“Uh-huh,” Keith says. “I— really like you.” 

It’s both bold and sweet. Shiro’s sure her expression is moony. She kisses Keith again and Keith sighs, sinking back against the tree, letting out a soft almost-moan when Shiro presses kisses over her jaw and down her neck. 

“I like you, too,” Shiro says. “Even if you always walk in on my bad singing.” 

“I like your singing,” Keith sighs as Shiro kisses her neck. “You have a nice voice.” 

“It’s loud.” 

“It’s big,” Keith says. She swallows. “It… fits you. I like that, too.” 

“ _Keith._ ” 

It makes Shiro laugh, embarrassed and delighted. _Songbird,_ Keith’s called her a few times, but Shiro really thinks she’s less songbird and more squawky seagull. She thinks Keith would scold her for the self-deprecation. So instead, she leans in to kiss Keith again, moaning when Keith makes it deep and dirty immediately, fingers tangled tight in Shiro’s silver hair. 

“Hearing you is the best part of my day,” Keith says. Then she blushes, turning her face away even as Shiro chuckles and nuzzles at her jaw. “Too sappy?”

“Perfectly sappy,” Shiro says. “I love sap. Love trees.” 

She’s not sure she’s making much sense. It works to make Keith laugh, though, looking relieved and delighted at once. She grabs at Shiro, turning them so that she can shove Shiro up against her own apple tree. Keith crowds in close, standing on the tips of her toes to reach Shiro, kissing her with an unforgiving drag of her teeth over her bottom lip. 

“Still gotta show you how strong I can be,” Keith teases. 

“Fuck,” Shiro sighs, holding Keith close, hands splayed over her back. 

“Mm,” Keith agrees. Beneath her hands, Shiro can feel the sinuous curve of Keith’s body, the bunch of fabric. She wants to touch her all over. She never wants to stop kissing her. “Shiro,” Keith sighs into the kiss. “Shiro—” 

And that’s the sweetest sound of all.

She thinks of the marigolds in her window, all those flowers growing back wherever Keith lives. She imagines bringing Keith bouquets of flowers on their first date, on their second date, or just because she wants to, just because she loves Keith’s smile. Imagines helping her garden after work, kneeling in the dirt and helping nurture plants for pollinators. 

Imagines Keith working in the sun, wiping her brow and stripping off her tank top so she’s only in her bralette, the sun radiating off her skin, letting Shiro trace her abs and admire the pretty curl of her hair at the nape of her neck. Maybe Shiro could kiss down her spine and get them very distracted from planting lavender. 

She imagines helping Keith finally not kill a succulent with over-watering. 

She kisses Keith in her backyard garden, surrounded by the night, and reminds herself to look up what marigolds mean. Later. 

And later, long after the sun’s gone down, she does just that, pulling it up on her phone. They apparently mean cruelty and grief. She tells Keith this, laughing (“Bad start to a relationship!”), but Keith just snorts and shoves a pillow at Shiro’s face.

“Get off your phone while we’re in bed together,” Keith says without venom. 

Shiro’s more than happy to follow that suggestion, especially when it means she can get her hands on Keith instead. She shoves the pillow away with a laugh and pulls Keith in closer, content to hold her close until the sun comes up again.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
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> This author replies to comments.
> 
> **ETA:** Thank you for the amazing art for this fic!! 
> 
> Please be sure to check out [this moony, pining Shiro](https://twitter.com/crypticarus_sk/status/1268994482055282688) by IC! ♥ 
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stardropdream)


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